


Why Try To Change Me Now

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: Rio is making it hard for Beth to stay out.





	Why Try To Change Me Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I was high through writing the second half of this.   
> Thank you I'm sorry goodbye

It’s taken Beth hours to find him. And even then, it’s not her detective skills that finally bring her results but pure, dumb luck. 

 

She tried the bar, the warehouse, that overpriced hipster cafe he loves so much, and no sight of him. She even went as far as trying to bribe the bartender for his contact information, but no amount of monetary persuasion could motivate him, and in the end, she got in her car and got on the road back home. She had about two hours to spare before Dean and the kids were due home from dinner at his mother’s. She decided to skip it under the pretense of helping Ruby with her church bake sale, which isn’t exactly a lie. She did show up in her sunday bests, all smiles and can-do attitude. It’s a lot easier than sitting at her mother in-law’s pretending not to be hating every moment. Sure she’s trying, but she’s not ready for  _ that _ just yet.

 

Just as she’s beginning to dread having to actually attend these functions again, she sees him two or three cars ahead and a lane over. And there’s no mistaking that car, or the shadow of his head through the tinted glass, his hand when he reaches up and over to adjust the rearview mirror–Beth’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, the leather protesting under the pressure as her eyes clock the traffic light switch to green, and the moment she’s able, she switches lanes, making sure to keep her distance so he won’t spot her.

 

She thinks about the unexpected Sunday delivery at Boland Motors; eight cars. Eight cars she has no room for, nor does she have a good enough explanation for her assistant when she calls her, saying she didn’t know they had a delivery scheduled. Before that, there was the body, wrapped in added layers of plastic on her back porch at five in the morning which she managed to get rid off in the landfill with Annie and Ruby’s help–they hoped their assumption that the cops couldn’t possibly search the same place twice was correct. 

 

By the time she pulls over down the block from an old rundown office building Rio seems to know very well, Beth is seething. If she could, she’d strangle the life out of him with her bare hands–’could’ being the operative word.

 

She waits in her van, letting her rage marinade her nerves enough. She’s not sure what she’s going to say to him, but she knows he’ll deserve it, whatever it is.  _ How dare he make her run around town looking for him? In heels no less!  _

 

There’s no one at the large maple reception desk and something tells Beth no one ever really sits there. It’s a small front office with nice furniture, nice chairs that have never been sat in, a TV with a film of dust coating the screen, and a long hallway with the faintest, distant light seeping through.

 

There’s carpet, and so her shoes don’t make any noise, and good, she thinks. Catching him by surprise can only work to her advantage, except when she reaches the office at the end of the hall, the only one with the light on, he’s standing there behind a desk, with a large leather bound ledger book he isn’t looking at because he’s looking at her, as if he’s expecting her. 

 

She inhales and exhales sharply through her nose and says, “Do you think you’re funny?” 

 

He smirks. 

 

“You following me?” 

 

“You need to come pick up your cars. Tonight. They can’t be there tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, you’re in charge of that, remember?”

 

“And I told you I’m out.”

 

“Our clients don’t take last minute cancellations very well, so you’ve got a few more orders coming.”

 

“What’s a few?”

 

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Five, ten. Gotta check the books.”

 

“You mean those books?” She nods at the one in his hands and she glares when just stares back with that mirthful, vengeful little glint in his eyes. 

 

“You’re unbelievable,” she scoffs, and he lets out a disbelieving chuckle. 

 

“Look who’s talking,” he says and drops the book atop the credenza behind him, “with your shady ass. You want to get out? Get yourself out. I’ve got a business to run.” 

 

“This IS your business.” 

 

“Nah, sweetheart, this is your debt to unload. That’s the last of my investment in you. My time is strictly reserved for ongoing business, you feel me?” 

 

And then she laughs, drops her hands to her hips as she stares him down. “And what if I don’t do it?” 

 

His stare grows cold then, impatient as he shoots back, “You can try it. But I wouldn’t recommend that.”

 

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? You’ve tried that, remember?” 

 

His legs are long enough that he crosses the room in a handful of strides until he’s in her face, and the last time he was this close he’d been on top of her and--well. It doesn’t matter. 

 

He’s furious. And she’s furious. And it’s all too much, too much  chaotic energy between the two of them. She can feel it bouncing back and forth with the weight of a bowling ball. 

 

“You think because we’ve fucked a couple times I won’t take your ass out the minute you fuck with my business? Don’t mistake a good fuck for weakness, sweetheart.” 

 

She grins as she leans even closer so their chests are grazing and she doesn’t miss the brief glance at her lips. 

 

“Don’t mistake my inexperience for stupidity,” she replies, and at the faintest quirk of his lips, she adds, “And while we’re at it, do not mistake it for fear either. We’re well past that.” 

 

“Are we now?” He laughs and it makes her spine tingle. 

 

“Take. The cars. Back.” 

 

“I don’t think so.” 

 

“I don’t want them.”

 

“Not my problem.” 

 

“Take them.”

 

The airy chuckle he lets out then, the way he eyes her up and down like he’s unimpressed makes Beth feel so small, but it’s gone the moment he turns away.

 

Brushing her off like she’s insignificant fills Beth with white-hot rage and she scans her surroundings for the nearest thing, settling for a nearby vase that breaks so easily all over the floor. 

 

Rio turns in the doorway, eyebrow raised, nostrils flaring the way they do when he’s desperately holding onto the last bit of control on his anger and he nods at the shattered vase, “That was expensive.” 

 

“Oh, was it?” She asks, taunting him. “Was it valuable?” 

 

And then she goes for a strange, shapeless ceramic thing sitting on the desk and she hears him yell something right before she smashes it on the floor and then he’s got her. He’s got her with one arm around her waist and one of her wrists in his other hand and she’s panting when their eyes meet, her chest heaving, her blood boiling. 

 

“How does it feel? Huh?” She tugs at her wrist but he’s got a pretty good grip and so she pushes at his chest with her free hand and grunts, “How does it feel to have the things you love taken away and destroyed? Huh?”

 

And then she’s thinking about her kids, and  _ Rio _ , and all the good things in her life that can’t ever coexist and she tugs at her hand again, hits his chest again because it’s easier than letting the tears stinging her eyes fall. It’s easier to be angry. It’s easier to--so she kisses him. And it’s not gentle, or careful. The bashful tentativeness they shared in her bedroom is gone, for another time. 

 

Now, there’s only bruising, punishing kisses, and the edge of the desk digging sharply into the back of her thighs, and Rio’s hand roughly ripping her underwear off as she’s lifting up her dress before he lifts her onto the desk; her hands tugging at his belt and the stillness that comes when he pushes into her. 

 

It’s not like in the bathroom exactly, but it isn’t like in her bedroom; this is desperate and bitter, and the way his hand is wrapped around her neck, not squeezing but with just enough pressure…

 

Beth’s hand glides up Rio’s forearm to rest atop his hand in encouragement and when he gives her a tentative squeeze and her legs move higher astride his hips, he inhales sharply and his hips begin to thrust; slow and then sharp, his brow furrowed in concentration as he watches her face closely.

 

Something warm and vulnerable shines in the brown of Rio’s eyes then, something he catches before it fully reaches her. An angled thrust of his hips makes sure it doesn’t reach her and she gasps, fisting a hand into his shirt at the waist and gripping the rounded edge of the desk with the other. 

 

His hand leaves Beth’s throat, only to find its way to the back of her head and she promptly feels a tug. His teeth bear down and she hisses, leaning into the pain and moaning when he hoists her left leg higher up his waist. The adjustment makes her pussy contract enough that his teeth release her skin so he can groan into her shoulder. 

 

When they kiss again and his fingers are digging sharply into her hip, and her orgasm is fast approaching, Beth thinks maybe she should say something, maybe they should talk. But then she’s moaning into his mouth and he’s holding her so tightly that she’s not sure she’s quite sitting on the desk anymore and suddenly talking doesn’t seem very urgent because she feels her release from the top of her head to her toes.

 

She holds onto Rio through his release, the sporadic juts of his hips partnering nicely with the tailend waves of her orgasm until the only thing left to pay attention to is their labored breathing and the uncomfortable silence as they disentangle and Beth hops off the desk. 

 

“Listen, I can take two, three more orders, tops. But that’s it.

 

She can feel him watching her when she grabs her keys off the floor and shakes bits of the blue vase off before tucking her hair behind her ear, anything to keep from looking at him. 

 

“You ain’t out,” he says, fastening his belt. 

 

Beth sighs and smoothes her palms down over her dress one more time before finally looking over at him. 

 

“Yes, I am,” she says, but it comes out like a plea and she hates that he laughs. “Three, tops. Okay?” 

 

“Sure,” he nods, looks her up and down–it’s not cruel like before and she hates that she almost smiles. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I like your dress.” 

 

Now she smiles, shaking her head. “Shut up. I was at church.” 

 

“ _ Church _ ?”

 

He laughs in earnest now and there’s a pang in her chest that feels a lot like missing him.

 

“I go to church with Ruby sometimes. I’m a good girl.” 

 

“Baby, you are a lot of things, but you are not that.” 

 

He leans back against the desk and she bites her lip recalling her position there a few minutes ago.

 

“Two or three, four--or five, tops. But that’s it.” 

 

He nods. “Okay. Sure.” 

 

She shakes her head again; at him or herself, the whole ridiculous situation and the fact that they can't stay away from each other.

 

Sighing her resignation, she rolls her eyes, and says, “I hate you.” 

 

She’s gone before he can respond, and in her car, though she still feels a little angry, she also feels a little happier, lighter–she also realizes she’s going to have to get better at keeping secrets because this time, this secret, she’s going to keep. 


End file.
